


I'm thankful for...

by zahrawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Happy, Insecurity, Meeting the Parents, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Sex, Smut, Teasing, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5292011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrawrites/pseuds/zahrawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Thanksgiving</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm thankful for...

"You think they’ll actually want me there?" you ask, holding up a sweater against your body and admiring your reflection.  

Dean shakes his head from his place on your bed in response to it and replies, "Of course. Why wouldn’t they?"

"Because they’ve never met me before." You remark and hang the sweater back up in the closet.

He shrugs. "Sammy’s met you and he loves you."

You sigh. "Yeah, but these are your _parents_. What if they really hate me? What if they disapprove? What if I’m not good enough? What if-"

You stop when you feel his arms around your waist, and lean back into him. He makes you feel warm and safe and protected, everything you’ve ever craved, and if you could—you’d stay that way forever. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and kisses you there, all sweet and comforting.

"They’ll love you." He rumbles, deep and reassuring.

You wish his words would make you feel better they don’t. You tug out of his hold frustration and go to shuffle together the mess on your desk. You can imagine the look on his face.

"I would never ask you to choose." You say quietly. "I would expect you to listen to them."

You turn to look at him, books held in front of you like a shield. "I would understand."

"And what about me?" his words come out harsher than he intended, you’re sure. He walks to you slowly giving you enough time to back away.

"You would really ask me to do that? To give you up like that?"

You’re drawn up into worrisome green eyes but you’re at a loss for what to say. You would never dream of putting Dean through pain or discomfort.

There’s no time to reply because there’s a knock on your open door.

"Hey, y/n, Jess’ saying she needs your help with- oh…" his gaze flicks between the two of you, the tension in the room tangible.

"-maybe I should come back later?"

You turn to put down your books.

"No, it’s fine. I’m okay."

You meet Dean’s gaze once more, " _We’re_ okay." You say pointedly, before going to follow Sam out of the room.

Dean just grabs you by the wrist when Sam leaves.  

"Dean, I have to-mmph!"

Soft lips press against yours once, twice, five times before he pulls back, his other hand brushing your hair over the shell of your ear.

"We’re okay." He repeats, voice low, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed.

You nod and pull away but he tugs you back.

"If I don’t go, Sam’ll just come back, and _then_ it’ll be awkward." You warn even though you’re completely on board with whatever mischief he had planned.

He sighs dramatically and lets you go reluctantly, with a smile on his face.

-X-x-X-

You’re feeling especially nervous about the Thanksgiving dinner at Dean’s family home. This is the third time you’ve adjusted your jumper on your way over. Dean takes your hand into his and smile’s—it’s one of those _everything will be fine_ smile’s and you can do nothing except fake confidence, so you mirror it and wait patiently for the front door to open.

It does a few seconds later, the younger Winchester greets you and pulls you both into a hug before ribbing his brother for how much gel is in his hair.

"Stop teasing your brother and go and set the table, Sam." A woman’s voice calls.

Mary Winchester, in all her golden glory rounds the kitchen into the hallway and your breathing catches in your throat. You glance up nervously at Dean but his eyes are on his mother, a fond smile gracing his expression after seeing her.

You try to swallow your fear and tug out of his hand to wrap your arms around yourself protectively but he doesn’t let you. He hugs his mother one-armed and presents you.

"Mom, this is y/n."

Her hazel gaze settles on you but her smile doesn’t lessen, it just gets wider as she glances at her son’s happy expression for a second before pulling you in for a hug, too.

"Oh…" is all that escapes you because does this mean… acceptance? Is it this easy?

"It’s wonderful to meet you, y/n."

"It’s wonderful to meet you too, ma’am." You choke out.

"Psh, none of that ma’am business now, you just call me Mary or Mrs Winchester." She says and leads you both towards the living room.

Dean mouths _you ok?_ at you but you have no time to reply before there’s a deep male voice, who must be Dean’s father, that calls from the other side of the room.

"Dean! Go long!" A football flies over your head. Dean has to let go of your hand to catch it so you clasp them together in front of you.

Mary turns to the man with a glare. "What did I say about playing _inside_ the house?"

Dean passes the ball back to his dad when the man comes around to kiss his wife lovingly on the cheek and reply, "Only when you’re allowed to play, too."

Her glare falls away easily and is replaced with a grin. "Damn right."

"Mom, _language_." Sam and Dean say simultaneously like they’ve said it many times before.

You stand there quietly, not quite sure how to react. It seems _easy_ , far too easy and if you were being honest—you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Sorry-" Mary says. "-this is y/n. y/n, this is John."

You nod politely and stick out a hand for him to shake, which he looks down at for a second before taking it and nodding approvingly.

"Good to meet ya, kid." He says rather abruptly and Mary slaps him with her oven glove.

"What?" he retorts, eyes wide. She doesn’t get a chance to explain before John’s pointing a finger at Dean.

"You’ve got some explainin’ to do."

"What’d I do now?" Dean replies, brows furrowed.

John walks him into another room, the last thing you hear of their conversation is, "When’s the last time you called your mother? She worries about you." And Dean’s snarky reply, "And _you_ don’t?"

They disappear into another part of the house and you’re left with Mary and Sam. She laughs after them, shaking her head, before turning to you.

"How would you like to help me in kitchen?"

You feel free to decline her request, but Sam’s slaps you encouragingly on the arm as he walks past you towards the kitchen—Mary stepping in that direction, too.

"C’mon, you’ll love it. Mom’s making _pie_ for dessert." He says, smile wide.

Mary huffs jokingly. "I guess I am."

Her expression softens when it’s just the two of you, wraps an arm around your shoulder and steers you towards the kitchen.

"C’mon, honey. Let me show you the way to Dean’s heart."

-X-x-X-

The atmosphere is jovial and relaxed. Your anxiety lessens by the second and you find yourself smiling more and worrying less. The Winchester’s exchange easy banter and it’s like they’ve known you forever.

You settle in to eat, John and Mary at the heads of the table, Dean on his right, Sam opposite his brother and you next to Dean and on Mary’s left.

Sam’s the first to pick up his food when Mary tuts.

"First to eat is the first to say thanks." She says, giving him a pointed look.

The youngest Winchester pulls his hands into his lap.

"Uh… I’m thankful for my family, and my friends and … uh, Jess-" he ducks his head when he mentions his girlfriend’s name. Dean makes a teasing noise in response which gets a glare from Mary.

"Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch."

"Boys, _language_."

"Sorry, sir." Is the chorused reply to their father’s reprimand, but it doesn’t stop them from pulling faces at each other and you’re pretty sure Dean kicks him under the table, but you can’t call him out on it because Mary interjects.

" _Dean_ , what’re you thankful for?"

Dean looks like a deer in headlights when he’s called upon and you’re amused, smile pulling at your lips.

He clears his throat, fiddles with his fork and shrugs.

"Well, I guess it’s the same stuff Sam said-" he starts off serious, but the way his lips curve up from the edge tell you there’s a joke to come. "-especially Jess ‘cause God knows where he’d find a girlfriend if it wasn’t for her-"

"Hey!"

" _Boys._ " Mary says sternly.

Her sons have the decency to look shameful but you can’t help your amusement.

"Dean. Go on." She encourages but the man in question is suddenly looking nervous.

"Maybe Dad should go, mine’s the same as Sammy’s anyway so-"

You place your hand on his thigh comfortingly when he breaks off. He takes a deep breath – you watch the rise and fall of his chest – and places his hand over yours.

"I’m thankful for my family, and my friends, but mostly…" he pauses and swallows. "…I’m thankful for y/n. I’m thankful for _everything_." The atmosphere tightens slightly and frankly, _you’re_ thankful when Sam makes a teasing noise, much like his brother had before. Laughter breaks out in the room and you’re glad to see a smile on Dean’s face once more.

John goes next—thankful for his boys and his wife, and their friends, and that he’s here to see them all so happy. Mary aww’s and repeats the sentiment but phrased in her own way.

"y/n, would you like to go next?"

You shrug, "Sure." Dean intertwines your hands and you throw him a smile.

"Um- I guess I’m thankful for my car-" there’s a bark of laughter from John and you think it sounds like approval. When he pats Dean on the shoulder afterward, you’re _sure_ it is.

"-and now, after having the opportunity to meet you all, I’m thankful for you guys. Especially, how you’re all here for Dean."

You rub a hand across your forehead, debating whether you should delve into how you’re feeling. Your last thought is _fuck it_ before you do.

"To be completely honest, I was nervous about coming here tonight. I was worried you wouldn’t like me—that you wouldn’t… _approve_. I mean, it doesn’t help that I’m socially awkward as it is, but for you to open your home to practically a complete stranger, based on a few words about me from your son, I think, speaks highly of how much trust and affection you all share for each other."

You glance up to meet John and Mary’s gaze respectively. They’re listening intently, smiles fond, but you can feel the prickle at the corner of your eyes.

"I guess what I’m trying to say, is that I’m incredibly grateful that Dean has you all."

You turn to face Dean when you feel him squeeze your hand. Your heart’s pattering away in your chest and you know all their eyes are on you.

"I’m thankful for you." You have chance to murmur before he leans forward and kisses you, chaste and appropriate for a family setting. Your hand goes up to cradle his jaw automatically. When he pulls away there’s nothing but love in his eyes and a smile on his face.

"Remind me to show you my bedroom later." He murmurs quietly, for your ears only and you blush.

Mary catches your hand in hers and says, "We’re here for _you_ , too."

You nod appreciatively, as you clear your throat and you all dig in. The atmosphere eases, once more, into its relaxed state.

You offer to help clean up but Mary declines, smiling in the direction of her sons stood together laughing quietly about something until Dean ruffles Sam’s hair and the latter pulls out of it, smile still on his face.

"You should join the boys, have fun, John’ll be here in a minute anyway."

You take her instruction but Dean meets you halfway by the staircase. He grabs your hand and tugs you up the stairs.

"Where are we going?"

He glances back mischievously. "The Batcave!" he exclaims, excitement in his eyes.

You laugh at his childishness, following him down the corridor and then he swings open the second door on the right. He drops your hand and walks in the centre of the room while you’re standing there in awe. You’ve never been in his room. Posters of his favourite bands and music artists cover the walls in some form. There are movie promotional posters; Star Wars, Harry Potter, others are peeling off at the corners but most have been re-taped at the corners. They’re crinkling with age but Dean’s twelve years old again; he’s wearing a boyish smile as he trails fingertips over a vinyl player and his bookshelf and his guitar.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, stepping further into the room.

He turns to you with a look of nostalgia, a shine to his eyes and a smile on his lips. The sun’s setting through the window behind him and he’s completely illuminated, golden flecks pick at the tips of his brown-blonde hair, dipping him in a whiskey coloured light.

He’s _stunning_.

"I’m fine." He murmurs, voice thick with emotion.

You know he denies _chick-flick moments_ but you can tell he loves this.

"I haven’t been in here in so long." He adds lowly.

Seeing him happy makes you happy. You walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He turns immediately in your embrace and your arms go around his neck while his circle your middle.

There aren’t enough words to encompass how _much_ he means to you so you pull him in instead, fingers burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I’m so thankful for you." He whispers against your lips. "I can’t even tell you…"

His voice almost cracks. _Almost_. Then, he huffs a laughs and you can tell it’s one of _those_ laughs.

"What’s funny?"

"Nothing." He denies innocently but his eyes tell a different story. He pulls away and strolls to his bed, then turns and sits on it, resting back on his palms. He tilts his head, pulls his lip in as if in thought.

"I always had this fantasy…"

_Of course._

"Oh yeah?" you ask, seemingly oblivious to his line of thought. You rest back against his closet opposite him and watch him present himself; legs wide, the line of his body purposely focusing attention at his crotch.

"Mmhm." He nods, smirk in full force as he looks you up and down like a dessert. You try not to blush at the scrutiny but you can feel the heat down your neck and under your collar. You reach up with both arms, push out your hips and chest and let out the most _obscene_ moan.

His expression doesn’t change but the twitch at the corner of his mouth gives it all away.

"So, _that’s_ how it’s gonna be?" he asks.

You roll your gaze to meet his.

"Come get it, baby." You offer, running a hand over your chest, down your stomach, under your sweater and tucking into the top of your jeans.

He narrows his eyes.

"You wouldn’t dare." He says, heated gaze presenting a challenge.

You shrug nonchalantly, unbuttoning your jeans so he can see and shoving your hand into your underwear.

He’s across the room in a flash and grabbing your wrist to stop your movements. There’s no room between you, he’s pressed up completely against you and you’re backed against the closet. His breathing’s comes harder as he runs a hand under your leg to hike it up around his waist and grind into you. The pressure is glorious but your hand is ripped away from your body and held above your head with his other hand.

There’s sin in his eyes and honey dripping from his lips as he presses lines of searing kisses up your neck.

"Your orgasm is _mine_." He growls against your ear, pulling the lobe between his teeth. You let out a whimper but sex is way more fun when he’s like this, so you add a little more fuel to the fire. You turn your head towards him, tug your hand out of his hold and pull at his jeans.

"Then, _take it_." You rasp, pulling him in with the leg around his waist. He lets out a groan as you grind together, letting his head fall against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

"Fuck, y/n."

You can’t help huff a laugh. "That’s the idea."

In a fit of impatience and with a noise of frustration- he lifts you, legs automatically holding around his waist and walks to his bed. You fall together, in love and lust, taking what the other offers.

He takes both your hands and guides them up above your head to the railing.

"If you let go, I stop." He threatens.

"Stop what?" you ask breathlessly.

He smirks in response.

_Oh shit._

He crawls down your body, pressing kisses where he can because you’re still mostly clothed and his family’s downstairs.

 _Double shit_.

He tugs off your dark jeans without pretence, flings them off somewhere to the side and lifts a leg over his shoulder. There’s heated kisses and squirming hickeys sucked into the skin of your inner thigh. He teases the other side the same way and it leaves you breathless and squirming. The next thing you feel are light fingers teasing at the line of your panties and his breath all over your skin and _ohholyfuck_ you’re getting desperate.

"Dean, _please_ …" you beg. Your eyes have closed and there’s butterflies in your stomach.

"Please…" your hand snaps away from the railing to run in his hair and he stops.

Just like that.

You whimper at the loss of contact as he places your hand back where it goes and kisses you, deep and teasing.

You hear him chuckle when he pulls away and settle between your legs again. "I’m glad this is funny for- oh!"

He slips his hand under the hem of your underwear and for next few minutes it’s all pressing and rubbing and swirling and the pressure _buildsbuildsbuilds_ like a coil in your core, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. The only sounds in the room are his filthy praises pressed to your skin and your shameless noises of gratification.

After the fingers, comes the lips and the tongue and you’re just about ready to have your soul ascend, your grip white-knuckling the bed railing, lips parted, back bowing into a beautiful arch—he tells you as much, murmurs it into your sweat-slicked skin while you pulsate with pleasure.

Next comes what you’re waiting for.

 _Him_.

He presses in slowly, drapes his body over yours, and pulls your hands away from the railing to twine them in his own in the pillow just above you head.  

There’s _loveyous_ and _you’rebeatifuls_ and _harders_ and _fasters_ given and taken between you before you see the cliff edge and leap right over it, heart and body.  

He comes right after, one hand slipping from one of yours and slipping between your bodies to press into you again.  You arch impossibly into the touch, rasping out his name and every profanity you remember.

Coming down is easy, heavy breathing regulating, heart calming, bodies laid together wantonly as you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck gratefully.

"I’m thankful for orgasms." He murmurs into the quiet, voice rough.

Laughter escapes you. It’s full and bright and bubbly and he mirrors it, rolling over to lay beside you.

"Me too." You agree, rolling over onto your side to keep him close.

You trail feather light fingertips over his side. "I’m thankful that _you’re_ the one who gives them to me."

His smile is bold and full of bravado when he kisses you.

"I’m thankful that you let me be the one to give them to you."

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the [One Week Writer's Challenge- Dean Winchester Edition](http://deanxkatherine-af.tumblr.com/post/133613060017/one-week-writers-challenge-dean-winchester)
> 
> Please note that we don't have Thanksgiving where I live so all my info is from movies and series; sorry for inaccuracies.
> 
> My Tumblr is [here](http://prettyboydean.tumblr.com). Come say hi! :)
> 
> Enjoy! x  
> 


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